Perpetually Linked
by SotMyriad
Summary: Trapped in a world between life and death and forced to atone for all eternity, Lord Voldemort attempts to trick his only living link into helping him escape his fate. Only one tiny problem; his final link, is with Harry Potter. Eventual LV/HP, Slash, R&R
1. Prologue: Death

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, never have and never will, unfortunately. So please do not sue D=**

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><p><strong>Perpetually Linked<strong>

_Prologue -** Death**_

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><p><strong>"Avada Kedavra!"<strong>

**"Expelliarmus!"**

The bang was like a cannon blast, and the golden flames that erupted between them, at the dead center of the circle they had been treading, marked the point where the spells collided. Lord Voldemort saw his green jet meet Potters own spell, saw the Elder Wand spring out of his grasp and fly high, dark against the sunrise, spinning across the enchanted ceiling like the head of his beloved Nagini, spinning through the air toward the master it would not kill, who had come to take full possession of it at last.

Scarlet eyes widened in horror as his curse rebound off Potter's , smirk distorted along with his being as swords of blistering emerald impelled him from all directions, ceasing all thought in an instant. And then they all came rushing back, Searing pain flooded his senses as a murderous sea of thought raged through his mind. A familiar sound hung in the air; the whispered words of his enemy.

_"You're right. But before you try to kill me, I'd advise you think what you've done… Think, and try for some remorse, Riddle…"_

The voice of a pleading mother, screaming her final plea,-_ "Not Harry! Not Harry! Please-I'll do anything-"_

_"Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!"_

Through the tidal waves crashing around his mind, A lone voice echoed among the midst.

_"It's your one last chance, it's all you've got left… I've seen what you'll be otherwise… Be a man… try… Try for some remorse…"_

Crimson eyes searched the darkness engulfing them, for one last glimpse of his murderer. Searching through the thick fog obscuring his vision, for the sight of a pale face until finally, his sullied crimson pools locked, for an instant, with blazing emerald. Orbs flaring with the same force and intensity as the killing curse draining his being with each passing instant, was conflicted with anger, hate, shock, relief, joy and ..._ pity_?

And then everything blurred from his vision, pain subsiding as remains of his mind clung desperately to reality. A miserable attempt to grasp a small cavity of light.

_'Harry Potter...'_

His dying plight lost, gave way to a numbing calmness.

Nothingness.

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><p>Voldemort fell backward, arms splayed, the slit pupils of the scarlet eyes rolling upwards.<p>

Harry stared unblinking and paralysed as the man who was once Tom Riddle, focused his gaze, for the last time, upon him. Harry flinched as dull, cloudy crimson eyes peered into his own pools of glistening green. He bit his lip in anger at his inability to stop the abrupt feeling of pity, as the light faded from Riddle's eyes.

Then, the spell was broken. Tom Riddle hit the floor with a mundane finality, his body feeble and shrunken, the white hands empty, the snakelike face vacant and unknowing.

Voldemort was dead, killed by his own rebounding curse,

and Harry stood with two wands in his hand, staring down at his enemy's shell. Eyes wide as the eerie, serpentine voice whispered in his head.

_'Harry Potter...'_

One shivering second of silence, the shock of the moment suspended: and then the tumult broke around Harry as the screams and the cheers and the roars of the watchers rent the air.

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><p><em><strong>Nineteen Years Later.<strong>_

The train began to move, and Harry walked alongside it, watching his son's thin face, already ablaze with excitement. Harry kept smiling and waving, even though it was like a little bereavement, watching his son glide away from him. . . .

The last trace of steam evaporated in the autumn air. The train rounded a corner.

Harry's hand was still raised in farewell.

"He'll be alright," murmured Ginny.

As Harry looked at her, he lowered his hand absentmindedly and touched the lightning scar on his forehead.

"I know he will."

The scar had not pained Harry for nineteen years. All was well.

He _hoped_.

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><p>A.N [ <strong>Please read<strong> ]: Soo this is my first fanfic ever, so any help, pointing out typos, constructive criticism etc would be very helpful. I wrote this because I, like a number of others, were disatisfied by the Epilogue, for many many reasons. But anyway, I was thinking that since Voldemort is now stuck between life and death, wont it be interesting if this limbo acted as some kinda punishment for him, er make him relive his life over and over again etc, and then that got me thinking, considering Harry's scar did not dissapear, maybe there is a chance that atleast a small link between them was left unbroken, and sooo this was born =D so try and enjoy, I know its pretty short but the real plot begins in the next chapter but let me know what you think xD. Voldemort is abit OOC I know but he is dying, soo eh, I'll try and make him more believable in the future. Thank you for taking the time to read this. xD

_Special thanks to Malik, for bugging me to write this down, Uma for yelling at me about how i should improve my writing, and taking the time to correct mistakes in this, and to Reiko for being Reiko =D_


	2. Chapter One: Caged

**Disclaimer : Harry Potter is the work of J.K. Rowling, Perpetually Linked is the work of M.E. Taking credit for her work is not intended, so sue me not D=**

**Now that thats out the way, Enjoy the story and please REVIEW D=  
><strong>

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><p><strong>Perpetually Linked<strong>

_Chapter One_ - Caged

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><p>First, there was nothing.<p>

The stark lull of absolute desolateness was augmented in all directions.

It felt as if existence itself had ceased. A low static hum reminiscent of rain reverberated repeatedly through his mind.

'It seems that attempting to find a sense of direction here is futile',

He thought as he tried in vain to grasp some concept of trajectory that he could program his inner compass to. This felt like being in the deepest of sleeps; As if he was among the midst of a thick, vehement fog with no allusion as to whether he was falling or floating.

No external stimulus seemed to exist here: It lacked the familiar chilling tug of wind through his extensive robes as he advanced towards his enemies, there were no more glares from the intense sunlight that was set on hindering his eyesight, not that he could not see a thing in this alien place anyway. He could not inhale any traces of the vivid scents of earth, of mud, of trees, of animals ….of _life_. Nor could he feel the blazing heat of fire and relish in the agonized screams of prisoners filling the air as his minions taught a lessons to the fools who dared to defy him, to deny him of the throne that was rightfully his. He would delight as the last light of hope fled the drained eyes of his prisoners, as he planned the downfall of the light with his army of Death Eaters.

They were very worthy of their ranks, Oh yes, as his attentive followers. But none worthy enough to gain the paramount honour that was his trust.

His limbs felt heavy as he attempted to flex his joints in a futile attempt to grasp control over the only thing he felt he had any command over, his body. He felt nothing; there was no response from his muscles, as if he lacked skin, no flesh nor bone.

All connections to the sensations from his nerves were becoming ambiguous to his senses. As if he was nothing.

He felt trapped, in an empty box devoid of all character; Chaotic yet tranquil.

Like being dangled by a thin rope between birth or death

Voldemort attempted to focus his mind against the turmoil of disarrayed thought and lost track of time in their midst, forgetting to wonder how long he remained this way.

_…..It all made no sense._

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><p>If felt as if an eternity had passed until there came a time when enough of his dexterity was returned to him.<p>

An unfamiliar sensation had grasped hold of his back it seemed. It felt as if he had descended through thin air and a spindly veil had grudgingly broken his fall. To inspect, he pressed the palm of his hand against it; fully expecting the feel of marred fabric against his fingertips.

It felt completely solid.

Precariously, he leaned a bit more of his weight against its surface, unsure of how solid the object really was; it felt strong and secure. Deciding it safe he attempted to stand on unsteady legs, his movements as disorientated and uncertain as an anxious child. It disgusted him. Crimson eyes craved for more focus as they searched frantically through the darkness for the source of the dull light which was gradually illuminating his surroundings.

Debris littered the floor: showered rock fragments and shattered tombstones, the only remnants to mark the existence of what was once a great monument obscured most of the ground from view; blank eyes from the hollow faces of nameless corpses forsaken in their midst enveloped him in their scrutinizing gaze.

The core of the transpiring chaos stood the familiar outline of a robed man.

His long billowing black robe that seemed to be materializing from the air around him in spindles of dark saturated fibres as he moved, gave the impression that he was gliding as the man advanced forward towards an unseen enemy. Spectators of all divergence quivered in fear or gaped in awe as they sprang aside from his path, their foolish faces eager, as if awaiting some grand finale that determined the courses of their miserable lives.

Voldemort stood, eyes blazing venomously at the audacious imitation of his virtue.

"HOW DARE YOU MOCK LORD VOLDEMORT, YOU _VILE_ IMPOSTER**!**"

He snarled in aggravation and charged forward, not sparing a thought to pausing and reaching for his wand. A long skeletal hand clawed around his clone's neck in an attempt to crush it in a tightening grip…. but passed right through it as if through air to form an unintentional fist.

Voldemort pulled back his hand hastily and examined it; becoming suddenly aware of a flayed, charred quality to his previously pale grey and marble like skin. But other than that it remained unharmed. He reached out at his clone again but the translucent robes slipped right through his fingers as if they belonged to a ghost or a memory.

And then, it all fit in Voldemort's mind. This was no clone; this world was not even real.

_' This is …..A memory?'_ he thought, disbelievingly' _but it couldn't b-'_

His thoughts were abruptly cut short. Voldemort let out a strangled gasp and watched with wide eyes as a lightning flare flashed before his eyes, surrounding his alter ego, only HE could feel the pain. Just as before the curse tore through him, unleashing its destructive force everywhere it touched. It felt as if he was frozen alive and burned to death at the same instant, he shuddered as wave after wave of the murderous curse racked his body. Each flash of the lightning current became more excruciating than the last, until finally it …._retracted?_

The pain receded from his veins and left them numb and frozen. He watched in anarchy as the retreating curse met a peculiar glowing wall of red before racing back towards him, no … towards the tip of his clone's wand; the elder wand, and disappearing from sight.

Then the impact realization hit him with striking force. He dropped to his knees. All memories of the battle at Hogwarts rushed back to flood his mind. Thoughts fired from all directions through his consciousness.

This was all a memory. HIS MEMORY!

His spell backfired. He was dead. Killed by a rebounding curse; unleashed by his hand.

He, **Lord _Voldemort_** was DEAD.

Impossible; He who dared to go further than any other, He who tore his own being, _HIS SOUL_, to conquer death.

HE, WHOM HAD AQUIRED **IMMORTALITY**,

This was all a lie; it HAD to be a lie, all an elaborate setup planned by that bizarre old coot and his feeble minded puppet, _POTTER_. But how could they possibly, Dumbledore was DEAD.

_'And you are too'_

the annoying hiss of his consciousness ignited a frenzy of rage through his veins.

"WHAT IS ALL THISSS?" he lashed out in anger and frustration. His voice resonated off the unseen blank walls of his hell like the final cry of the mighty basilisk. Going unnoticed by the phantom's of his past inhabiting it.

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><p><em><strong>Nineteen Years Later <strong>_

A man sat, cross legged and hunchbacked, in his own personal prison. The grey serpentine face he once wore had come to retain a frayed quality, along with a fleshy pinkish tint with time, which made it seem burnt.

_'Raw and rough'_

The aberrations of his exterior finally reflecting the delirium within; It all succeeded in making him look less than human and more along the lines of a wooden carving. As if created with once exquisite hands that were accompanied by a diseased mind but abandoned at completion, to rot.

He was clothed from neck to toe in nothing but a single plain white robe which gave him the appearance of a madman, trapped in the dungeon of a blasted muggle asylum. Of course, this was not too far from the truth. Not in his opinion.

Ever since his initial arrival here in this perdition who knows how many eons ago, he had been forced to view the same old story in retrospect. Never starting with birth but always concluding with the same death, His death.

He had denied it at first, viewed it as some pathetic joke.

After all it could NOT be real, It _SHOULDNT_ be real. Not to _him_.

And yet it was. The ever changing world around him made it all the more obvious. Even he could not deny the raw truth for so long when it was manifested so evidently before him.

However, he was sure, this was no afterlife.

The surroundings he learned would morph to recreate sites from his memory. Filled with ghastly mirages of beings he abruptly abandoned in an untimely death. To make them puppets for a phantom master who guided them to dance in a repeating play of his past life. Yet leaving him a forgotten extra in their worn out plot, a pawn unable to cut those invisible strings which insistently tied him to his past, Unable to interact or change the course of events.

But of course, the PAIN he felt, oh yes, plenty of it; every blow inflicted on his alter ego was enhanced and administered twice fold on himself. Enough to make a sane man go off the high end but he supposed he had always been insane to retain even a shadow of his past self. Sometimes the cycle would reverse, playing events as if they were occurring in inverse with the turn of an hourglass, offering false hope yet crushing them with the constant reminder of his inability to affect anything around him, as if to mock his once presumptuous boasts of immortality.

But he should not have expected any better.

"One cannot change the past, Tom. No matter how hard he tries, once we had made our choices, once an unforgivable act had been committed, then there is no turning back. Just know that." The antiquated old coot had once said, during one of his many attempts to lecture Tom. A foolish sham designed to coax a reaction from him, even a slight hint which would serve as fuel for Dumbledore's ever growing list of suspicions regarding him.

"Then perhaps one has acquired a faulty time turner, Headmaster" he said then with a plastic, practiced smile, voice joking and good natured. But He felt positive that Dumbledore noticed the slight jeer in his tone as he noted the older man sigh and watched him resume his stroll in the opposite direction.

He never imagined there to be a time when he found himself agreeing with anything that senile waste of space had said.

Searching was his only salvation here. He had finally given up in his conquest to unearth any ghost of cognizance regarding time; it was not as if he had any need to know anymore. There was only one predominant goal in his mind.

He **HAD** to get out of here.

From the start he should have known that unwinding this world's secrets would not be an easy task. But then … It felt so simple. After all, he had prized his talents at unravelling mysteries since childhood, was he not the one who single-handedly researched and discovered the hidden and long forgotten entrance to the legendary Chamber of Secrets?

So as if to prove his point right, rather than admit to finding bliss in his own ignorance, he wandered aimlessly, fighting the occasional bursts of intense pain that shot through him as he pushed ahead with determination. But a countless, fruitless attempts have slowly stripped him of his will.

The world just extended to replicate locations of his past wherever he went and forced him to watch their cyclic play of puppets. Sometimes in the distant horizon he could spot untouched patches of pure white, as if they were somehow immune to the power of the strange magic inhabiting this world, or so he hoped. But to no avail. He was like a plague to anywhere he ventured, the fabricated illusions from times long past would just extend from him to envelop the world around him as if unwilling to let him break his ties from them. The promise of somehow unlocking this alien world's secrets, the minuscule hope of a potential escape, were the only thing enabling him to hang on to even a single thread of sanity in this mad man's heaven.

But even that final hope was slipping away from the man's damaged mind.

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><p>Unbeknown to the charred man, another watched him from invisible cavities of his world.<p>

He had been watching the man's actions for a while now. Ever since his initial discovery; of another soul trapped in this forsaken world. One that seems to have even a glimpse of sanity left in him anyway. At first he was uncertain of who this man was. Uncaring even, after all it made no difference to him. But boredom and uncertainty forced him back, into locating the man's whereabouts yet again. He was unsure of whether he should make his presence known; decided it was foolish to do so without having any idea of who this being was before his death. He chose to stay hidden and observe the man for a while till he was entirely certain of the man's potential sanity and utility.

The young, ephemeral body making the movements to conceal him from Voldemort's senses surprisingly simple and easy to him. A feeling which felt foreign to his aged soul, after all years in his own personal prison had stripped him of all telltale signs of vitality, both inside and out. He pondered what it was about this world that had sparked his craving for knowledge, something he had not felt for decades. Maybe it was the ever changing surroundings, or the surrogate body of him as a youth which had allowed him to inhabit it for a fleeting period of time. Permitting him a chance to venture out and experiment like in his prime without feeling the tug of age pulling him back down; Or the shackles around his feet and the wards around his prison, keeping him contained for the remainder of his wretched life.

How _Ironic_, Trapped in his own personal prison; in every sense of the word. This world was not too different from it.

Perhaps it was the lingering reminder of _his_ presence that drove him forward in this barren land. Giving him hope; giving him a purpose to survive here, giving him an unknown task and expecting him to figure it out and to carry it out. It seemed that those without regret cannot leave here, but it seemed that neither could those with a purpose. He just had to search and find out what role he played here.

After much wordless scrutiny which went unnoticed by the preoccupied man. He came to the conclusion that the man was not of danger to him. Not that the man had any chance of harming him here, but yet, why take the risk and engage in unnecessary conflict. The man might even end up following him, which would only be a hindrance in his further travels.

He came to the conclusion that the man might have been a Dark Lord. One from the future of the world he lived. After all; that would explain why he was send here as punishment for heinous crimes, not unlike himself. From his axiom of how much time had passed for the world outside, this man had to be from the future. At least a few thousand years must have passed outside, and he simply did not feel its effects due to his perception of time altering to adapt and keep him 'sane' in this world.

Upon closer inspection though he came to a shocking realisation, this was no unknown force of dark from a desolate Future. It was the same cretin that had caused HIM to end up here. He felt no need for revenge. After all what benefit will that provide him now? Years alone in solitude had taught him as much. He had craved for death long before he had the displeasure of meeting the frayed man who was pacing in front of him after all. No, he simply felt annoyance.

_"There is so much you do not understand"_ an echo of the words uttered by himself in the past whispered in his mind.

Even now, the man had too much he did not care to understand.

The foolish man would search aimlessly for untouched corners of his box and flee to it, he was sure the man knew it will do no good, but regardless he seemed to cling to the false hope offered by the blank patches in an attempt to keep the wounded remains of his sanity. With nothing to truly help pass his time his he left out in his own search; he decided to spy on the man's past unfolding before him. Of course he made sure to remain unseen, it was not too challenging.

After all unlike Voldemort, HE had managed to unwind some of the tangled web of lies known as this world.

Voldemort's memories proved exceptionally hard for him to keep up with at first; to him they seemed to unfold at an impotently slow rate that it took him a long time to adapt to its sluggish pace. He concluded that the world must have purposely slowed down the pace, making it as agonising as possible for the man and even if his mind had adapted it would not have mattered. After all, this way, his eternity would not only repeat but move at such a slow pace that no soul from outside that had found itself trapped here would last long enough to offer any help and soon he will have no one alive who even remembers his name.

Maybe it has already happened, if time ran differently for each person in this world, then maybe his concept of it was all wrong, maybe all of humanity had gone extinct by now.

'No, it cannot be that, surely THAT much time had not passed.'

The thought was not only disturbing and the implications very detrimental but it also made no sense as to why this world would be preserving souls if that was the case.

It was a very clever move from whomever controlling this world, if any. Yet cautious enough, they were not.

They had forgotten the possible chance of another with crimes just as great or even more being trapped here at the same time, after all it must have seemed highly unlikely that there existed any other act of evil so rotten that it would trap one here for so long, never mind at the same time. But those fools seemingly ruled out the possibility that maybe there are some who had already regretted almost all their lives actions, alone in a cell for the majority of his life.

Someone as such the world could not punish nor get rid of until his final goal had been carried out, his dying wish fulfilled. They never might have suspected that someone like him would willingly stay till he had unravelled the worlds secret, found his final purpose and carried it out. Then maybe he might have the honour of receiving his one last wish.

'Maybe _He_ had planned it this way all along', he thought, a slight smile curving the corner of his firm, yet soft lips.

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><p>Pity: He felt only pity for the man, and annoyance.<p>

Voldemort would continue his routine search, flailing in anger when the same magic engulfed his surroundings with memories of the past. It must be aggravating, he knew. But the man was going round this all wrong. Had he never took the time to sit down and examine himself first, If he did then maybe he would have took note of a peculiar mark on him, a mark that did not belonged to him during the course of his life. Yet, how can he not see the mark that belonged to someone so familiar?

Nor had he even thought of taking time to truly observe his memories? It proved increasingly frustrating to watch the man. Why can't this man who has had so much time alone to himself notice these simple yet shocking facts? And their implications regarding his own self. Had this man not been known as the Most Dangerous dark wizard of all time? And he knew there was more to being a dark lord than just raw power. This man had to be intelligent. Must have been intelligent, usually so; but the man in front of him was less than a shadow of his past self, in every way.

It was _disappointing_.

So confident or so it seemed, for all the wrong reasons, so sure of issues they truly have no grasp in, clueless and stubborn and excessively arrogant. That very arrogance must have been the man's downfall, has that taught him nothing?

The blond haired man sighed and wondered how long it would take for Voldemort to finally take note of the changes, or if he had any chance at all of figuring out the truth, His patience was wearing very thin with the younger man.

He wondered why he felt the need to even waste his time here. But perhaps this man might provide him with another clue which may direct him towards his own ultimate goal.

But not as the man is now, from what he could see the frayed man seemed to have finally given up his pathetic struggle, and sat there unmoving. He hoped that the man will take this time to examine his memories carefully, but the blank, drained look in those dull eyes told him otherwise.

Perhaps the time had come for him to make his presence known.

He stepped forward from his temporary cavity which had enabled him to camouflage himself against the younger wizard. Clearing his throat loudly to alert the man further of his presence, he uttered in a slight condescending tone.

" Ah Tom, You still know so little about the workings of the world it seems."

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><p>Plates cluttered together as his coral haired spouse rushed them over to the sink and turned on the tap. Washing them at a painfully slow pace which showed her inexperience at the task, bubbles and foam overflowed out of the sink due to the overuse of a muggle washing liquid she had borrowed from Hermione.<p>

He sighed in aggravation.

"Ginny, why not just use your wand? The boys are away and really what harm can it really do if Lily saw you cast a little cleaning charm?" he watched her dully through tired eyes.

She paused for a second to reply;

"_Because_ Harry, I want Lily to live magic free life till she leaves for school. You know how the boys were when they first learned of their own magical heritage, they went out of control; you remember the kind of things they got up to, don't you?,

Her chapped, plump lips momentarily twisted into a disapproving frown before continuing.

"If we use magic she will be all the more tempted to experiment with hers, which could be potentially disastrous. I remember when Ron and I were children and he-"

"**GINNY**", He cut her off rashly.

" Lily is taking a nap right now" he said lowering his voice,

" therefore she will not be tempted to use her magic regardless, and the boys, they were simply being children, they did _NOTHING_ dangerous, you should know, after all you insist on basically observing their every move so why not just save time and use a spell ?"

" because **HARRY**" her voice louder now,

"As you SHOULD know after so many years of marriage, I am not exactly great at cleaning charms, they require complicated magic you know and secondly. You have to learn that in life you cannot get through everything with the wave of a wand, I want my children to learn that lessons which YOU never did."

**" THEY ARE MY CHILDREN TOO"** he lashed out.

A pregnant silence suspended in the air. Both turned back wordlessly to continue their previous task: Ginny set on completing her new found household chores as Harry absentmindedly flipped through the pages to make any last minute corrections to his documents. Presently his current task became the furthest thing in his mind. He wondered if he should apologise.

_Was he really at fault? It sure seemed to be the case nowadays regarding their relationship, as far as Ginny. It was **ALWAYS** Harry's fault._

The shrill jolt of cutlery clashing against each other cut through his thoughts. He bit his lower lip hard while flinging his workload onto the floor and uttered in an almost inaudible tone

" Ginny, will you _please_ let me use a cleaning charm?"

His question went ignored as the women continued to fiddle with finely crafted drinking glasses. The sounds were ripping through his brain; lack of sleep mixed with his mental unrest due to having yet another confrontation with Ginny was taking its toll on his overworked mind. He could not handle it anymore, he assembled the sheets of paper that was scattered all over the kitchen floor and shoved them roughly into the suitcase that he had abandoned for the evening and rushed out of the wide kitchen.

" And where might you be going in such a huge rush? Running away from a situation that you had unnecessarily caused yet again? You can't always run away from your problems Harry, I wish you would ..."

Her agitated voice drifted through the spacious living room to meet his ears, dulled by the distance separating them.

He felt the need to retort but decided against it in favour of muttering a quick cleaning charm through gritted teeth before hastily making his way through the wide living room, dull emerald pools aimed at the door, as he made his quick exit.

The front door of their shared residence slammed shut, blocking out her frustrated shrieks from his ears.

He had to get out of here, **NOW**.

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><p><strong>A.N : This is really long so you will be forgiven for skipping over it, if you have time though please spare a few mins to read it xD<br>**

First of all, **PLEASE REVIEW** D=

Your reviews are like sweet internet document paper candy to me ... D=

Sooo, Haii guys =D I uploaded this one quick huh ? =D ... * shot * kaaay, i havent D= but its em its actually quite a funny story, you see I had all this written up two weeks or so after the Prologue, well most of it. But, I had someone to correct it for me D= so it kept getting put on hold, then school began, and basically alot happened and in the end i corrected it mahself once i got over my lazyness =D... yes that wasnt funny at all I know, shut up D=. But yes, please pardon any grammer or spelling errors you might find in this one. I'll try and rewrite and review it again when i have time.

Now that thats out the way, I would like to thank all the people who had reviewed, added this story to your favorites or put this on their story alert list thing xD It really means alot. I was so happy when I checked my mail and saw the emails from FF, and really shocked, i was like REALLY ? O_O FOR ME ? REEEEALLY ? O_o so yes, thank you for giving me heart attacks =D in a good way ... I think =D

But other than that, I shall try to get the next chapter done sooner, I hope this ones longer than the first, also is the quality okay ? are any of my characters OOC? D=

Also any guesses who the young man is ? =D it must be reeeeaaally hard to guess since i made him TOTALLY MYSTERIOUS * cough *

**And still looking for a beta, will any kind soul make any offers ? * ***

anywho i forgot what i was gonna say after, so Enjoy your day =D and thank you for thoose who read this, promise to make these A.N's shorter from now xD


	3. HIATUS

_**HIATUS:**_

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><p><em>Alright, soo I know I haven't uploaded in ...A while D: first I'd like to admit that I'm rather dissatisfied with my fluency in English. Regardless of it being my second language, my spelling and grammar is pretty atrocious at times Dx <em>

_This story truly does mean a lot to me and I feel as if I cannot do it justice with my current skills D= I have a clear idea of where this story is going in my head but my inability to express it properly in words leaves me at a great disadvantage D: therefore I think it's necessary that I take a small HIATUS from this story until I can truly express it properly in words._

_Sorry about this inconvenience D=, this story will be rewritten and back on track by sometime next year. Thank you to all the readers that had took their time to read, review, favourite or found this good enough to put in their alert list xD I hope at least some of you will take the liberty of waiting and reading it once I resume my writing on it. Thank you so much for all the support I have received so far on this story XD_

_Oh, on a final note, I will be working on a new story which I feel will be less "challenging" to write than this one XD I have a couple of ideas on different fictions, but my mind is kind of stuck on one of them, It is slightly influenced by the manga "Aijin Incubus" to anyone who's familiar with it, you might find some similarities :D I don't know when I'm going to start work on that but we shall see =O Thanks for taking time to read this: D_

_Again, sorry to the fans of this story Dx_


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